


Roadhouse Nights

by foggysundays



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Harvelle's Roadhouse, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Outsider, Wincest Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggysundays/pseuds/foggysundays
Summary: Ellen has been watching them for months now.She´s seen the pining, the hidden touches, the secret looks… and she´s aboutdonewith it. If those damned Winchester´s are too stubborn to pull their heads out of their asses themselves, then she´s just the right woman to do it for them.





	Roadhouse Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Busy, busy, busy November... but I totally managed to finish a challenge on time, so that´s a win! :D 
> 
> This is a fill for the [Winchester Writing Challenge ](http://wincestwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/).
> 
> My prompt was the Tarot card [‘The High Priestress’](https://www.trustedtarot.com/cards/the-high-priestess/#meaning): feminine influences, insightfulness, intuition, reason should take second place to instinct.
> 
> There´s a second fill, written by my November partner [sweet-sammy-kisses](http://sweet-sammy-kisses.tumblr.com/) ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrose_17/pseuds/blackrose_17)). Please drop by, check it out, and leave some love ;)
> 
> Happy December everyone!

There´s a shout and a crash, the sound of splintering wood, loud laughter echoing through the bar, heads turning to see what all the ruckus is about. Crude jokes fly through the air, followed by good-natured mocking, and Ellen lifts her head from the counter to check if any intervention on her part is needed.

Her staff is already on the move though, Perry and Dunham deftly pulling Elkins off the floor and escorting him outside, Tina abandoning her tray of empty glasses in favor of grabbing a mop and a trashcan to clean up the mess of spilled beer and broken chair pieces. It´s over in the span of a few minutes, and most people are already turning their attention back to their own conversations. Business as usual, then.

Ellen sighs and pours cheap whiskey into glasses, collects some of the empty beer bottles littering the bar and adds the broken chair to Elkins´ tap - there´s no way that bastard´s _not_ going to pay for the damage he´s caused.

It´s just another normal Saturday night: hunters crowding her bar, the smell of male sweat and alcohol thick in the air, everyone trying to one-up their drinking partners with stories of glory, blood, and monster guts.

At the table to her left, a smaller group of hunters starts singing their own horrid rendition of some semi-famous country song Ellen can´t remember the name of, and it really shouldn´t surprise her that it´s Ash´s voice that stands out the loudest. Genius he may be, but that kid can´t carry a tune for the life of him…

Jo joins her behind the bar and starts piling fresh beer bottles onto her tray, grimacing in pain when Ash hits another high note. Resigning, Ellen rolls her eyes and empties the vodka bottle into the half-filled beer glass in front of her – once Ash´s reached this particular state of drunkenness, there´s only one way to shut him up: get him pass-out drunk and let him sleep it off; and judging by his antics, it is definitely time to speed things up a little.

She hands the vodka spiked beer to Tina and then turns her attention back to her regular patrons, pouring drinks and collecting money with well-practiced movements.

Another bout of laughter floats over, warm and genuine this time, and Jo pauses and looks up, gaze fixed at something over at the pool tables.

Well, Ellen amends, or rather at a _someone_ , if the wistful look in her daughter´s eyes is anything to go by…

It´s not like Ellen can blame her: Dean Winchester is every girl´s wet dream, every parent´s worst nightmare. From those broad shoulders to that cocky smile, green eyes sparkling in the dim bar light, leather jacket straining over his biceps – that boy´s sex on legs, dangerous and mysterious, confident and charming enough to flirt his way into most women´s beds. He´s a damn good hunter too, way more intelligent than he´s letting on, and Ellen´s known him and Sam long enough to realize that they´re both hiding a heart of gold underneath that rough big-bad-hunter exterior.

But Dean´s also too much like his father, too focused on his mission to care for much else, too entangled with the hunting life, with his _brother_ , to offer her daughter more than heartbreak and sorrow. The Winchester´s path is a bloody one, and as much as Ellen´s learned to love those boys, she´s not about to lose another member of her family to hunting. Not without fighting it with everything she has.

Determined to break the moment, Ellen slams down the tequila bottle, and Jo jumps and shakes out of her daydreams with a high-pitched sound of surprise. Her daughter gives her a sheepish smile, well aware that she´s been caught, and hurriedly scurries away to exchange empty beer bottles with full ones.

Ellen shakes her head in exasperation and then stacks dirty glasses into the dishwasher, grabbing a towel to dry off the newly washed ones.

Her gaze drifts a bit as she works, lingers on the poker game that´s taking place a few feet away, and slides further up to where Gareth and McMartins are trying to convince Addams to join in on their werewolf hunt five towns over.

It´s not so much by accident than a rule of physics that her eyes finally get stuck on Sam Winchester´s broad back. The kid´s easily towering over everyone else in the bar (excluding Ash, who´s currently dancing on a damn table) and even his hunched shoulders and bend neck do nothing to make him less visible.

Ellen frowns – that posture can´t be good for the boy, and she´s tried talking it out of him a few times already. At this point, the whole things is probably instinctual rather than a conscious choice though, a bad habit that is hard to get rid of. She´s seen the kid fully upright once or twice only, and it has always been in response to a threat – Sam´s going to have some serious back problems once he´s older. If he lives to see thirty, that is…

She ruthlessly shoves that thought away and grabs a new glass to dry, silently watches as Dean lines up another shot, shamelessly showing off for the little fan club that has gathered around the table in the hopes of catching his attention. He succeeds in sinking a few balls, but messes up the next shot, grudgingly stepping aside to let Sam take over.

The older Winchester watches from the sidelines as Sam works his own magic at the pool table, gaze firmly fixed on his brother even as he jokes with the three girls surrounding him.

Some new patrons draw Ellen´s attention away, and when she looks over next, Dean has slung an arm around his brother´s shoulders, triumphant grin broadcasting his victory. It´s strangely endearing to see how well they fit together, bodies leaning into each other without a conscious thought, their sides pressed together comfortably, as if that´s right where they belong, not an inch of space between them.

For a second, Sam looks almost small in Dean´s arms, almost fragile despite his bigger frame, but the little-brother moment is gone before Ellen can fully pinpoint it, and then Sam shoves Dean off with a smile and excuses himself, apparently done with his brother´s flirting and determined to leave him to his hook-ups.

Dean watches him go, shoulders slumping slightly before he catches himself and turns his million-watt smile back onto his would-be conquests.

Ellen loses sight of Sam as another wave of costumers demands her attention and for a while, she´s too busy handling the bar to pay any mind to the Winchesters.  It´s nearly fifteen minutes later when she finds another quiet moment.

By then, Dean´s back to playing some newbie hunter who´s obviously not yet had the pleasure of being defeated by a Winchester, and this time it´s Sam watching from the distance, large frame nearly disappearing into the shadows of his chosen bar corner. 

Dean´s not even paying his opponent full attention, too busy flirting with his fan club to focus entirely on the game. Ellen does not miss the looks he´s throwing Sam, though, doesn´t miss how Dean´s constantly angling his body to allow him to keep his brother in his line of sight, doesn´t miss the silent communication that passes between those two.

She also notices the hurt on Sam´s face when one of the girls curls a hand around Dean´s biceps, she sees the sad little smile when Dean leans closer in response, sees how Sam´s grip on his beer bottle tightens, how his shoulders tense and how he curls into himself even more as he withdraws deeper into the shadows.

The look in Sam´s eyes is one she´s seen a million times before on other people´s faces – there´s so much longing, so much love, so much hopelessness… It´s not a look you´re supposed to direct towards a sibling.

It had been hard to detect at first, the brother´s unusual closeness covering most of their weird relationship dynamics, Dean´s constant flirting doing the rest to distract from anything out of the ordinary.

But Ellen´s always been good at reading people and it hasn’t taken her long to pick up on the looks, the touches. Sam´s quiet longing, Dean´s louder diversion tactics. She doesn’t need Ash´s level of genius to read the signals right…

Ellen knows this should probably disgust her, and disgust had been her knee-jerk reaction at first, common sense and the rules of society telling her how _wrong_ this is.

But a hunter´s life is complicated and she´s learned a long time ago that _unusual_ doesn’t necessarily mean _bad_. She´s been in love herself, has loved without reason or rhyme, knows how impossible it is to fight this – who is she to condemn someone else´s feelings?

The boys are adults. Old enough, mature enough.

Still, she can´t help but feel grateful that John isn´t around to witness this… can´t help but wonder if he _knew_ …

Dean laughs, draws the brunette closer to whisper in her ear, and Sam cringes and drains his beer, gathers his plaid shirts and jacket, determined to flee the scene.

Oh _hell, no_.

Ellen huffs and throws her towel down – she´s watched this fiasco long enough, has tried to direct those boys with subtle hints and quiet encouragement, but has obviously misjudged the legendary Winchester stubbornness. God save her from men and their emotional stupidity - time for some female intervention.

“Jo, you´re in charge.”

She grabs two beers and is on her way before her daughter finds the voice to protest. Sam looks up in surprise when she slides one of her beers over and grabs his arm to keep him in place, silently ordering him to stay put. He obeys reluctantly, sits back down and smiles (well, _grimaces_ ) at her.

“Hey, Ellen.”

“You´re leaving already? Tired of watching Dean flirt his way through the whole bar?”

Sam shrugs solemnly, fingers finding the label of his beer bottle and starting to peel it off.

“We´ve had a busy few weeks. Not much time for fun or distraction… I can tell him to lay off, if you want me to, though, he´ll understand.”

Ellen only snorts.

“I can handle your brother if I need to, Winchester. No need for you to intervene on my behalf.”

They just sit for a while, quietly enjoying their drinks, Ellen watching Sam watching Dean, silently cataloging the emotions that play over his face. The longing´s even more obvious from up close, and she wonders how she could´ve spend so many weeks in the dark, how _anyone_ can spend more than ten minutes with those two in one room without realizing the truth.

Then again, those boys are head over heels for each other, and none of _them_ has even the slightest idea that their feelings are returned, either.

“You should tell him, you know.”

Sam blinks at her, confusion clouding his face, but she only quirks an eyebrow meaningfully, and shifts her eyes to where Dean´s ass is high up in the air as he bends over the pool table to get a better shot.

It´s painful to watch the horror descend over Sam´s face, to see the panic in his eyes before he manages to rein himself in. His shoulders tense and he opens his mouth, closes it again, has to try several times before he manages to force out some words.

Ellen´s never wanted to hug someone this badly.

“I – Ellen. Tell him _what_? I don´t… What do you…”

She settles for the direct approach, lets her hand rest on Sam´s right forearm and squeezes gently.

“You love him. And not only in the way a brother should… There´s _more_. Took me a while to see it, but it´s unmistakable now.”

Sam´s still struggling for words, denial clear on his face, but they both know that he´s been caught.

“ _Please_ , Ellen.” There´s something shaky in his voice, something broken and defeated, something she never wants to hear in his voice ever again. “You _can´t_ tell him. You can´t. Dean wouldn’t – he doesn’t...”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Sam.”

She cradles his huge hand in hers, gently tries to loosen the death grip his fingers have on his beer bottle.

“I´ve seen the way you look at him, all the love, all the adoration in your eyes… Dean looks at you the same way – like you´re the single most important thing in all of creation, like he´d give up everything for you in a heartbeat.”

Sam´s shaking his head wordlessly, still unable to meet her eyes.

“It´s okay, Sam. We´re okay.”

Ellen knows that Dean has noticed that something´s wrong by now, can feel his eyes boring into her back, knows that he´s fidgeting, trying to decide if he´s supposed to come over and save Sam from her clutches or if that would only earn him a tongue-lashing too.

“What you and Dean share… It´s special. Precious. Most people don´t _ever_ make the kind of connection that you two have, and with the life us hunters lead… I can´t believe that I´m actually saying this, but stop thinking with your head, Sam. Stop trying to find reasons why this is wrong. Listen to your instincts. You´ve been struggling with this for years, haven´t you? Maybe your heart isn´t as wrong as you believe it to be.”

Sam´s face is still stoic and disbelieving, but there´s also tentative hope, small and fragile, but _there_ … Maybe that´s all those boys ever needed – acceptance, someone giving them permission.

“Talk to him, Winchester.”

Ellen drains her beer and gets up again, buries her understanding-counselor persona deep under her usual gruff attitude, and searches Sam´s eye one last time.

“And Sam? Knock some sense into that brother of yours. That boy is even more caught up in his head than you are, he´s going to need some convincing… Don´t let him bullshit you, he wants this just as much as you do.”

With that she turns and heads back to the bar, grinning when she watches from the corner of her eyes as Dean beelines to his brother´s side immediately, shooting an angry glance in her direction when he sees the state Sam´s in.

She´s not sure if her little stunt has done any good or just made everything worse - those boys are too damn bullheaded! But well, if push comes to shove, there´s always the good old get-everyone-drunk-and-shove-them-into-a-supply-closet approach; a move she has perfected over the years – hunter´s are a stubborn folk, and as brilliant as some of them are when it comes to hunting, _feelings_ are a whole different matter.

Ellen ignores Jo and her curious glances and goes back to serving beer again, wipes down the counter and collects the keys from some of her drunk-off-their-asses’ regulars.

In the far corner, Dean is quietly whispering with Sam, foreheads nearly touching as he tries to get his brother to talk. Ellen catches Sam´s eyes and winks, smirks as he blushes, and then turns towards her daughter, who is still looking between the three of them quizzically, and shoos her back to work.

Some idiot at the poker table has been caught cheating and it takes her some time to settle the ensuing dispute, her loaded shotgun making another one of it´s infamous appearances and reminding everyone of the Roadhouse´s no-fistfights-in-the-bar policy.

Ash has finally reached his limits, and he only gives another loud snore when Ellen none-too-gently pokes his side, flopping onto his stomach without waking, blissfully unaware of the warding symbols people have drawn all over his face.

Jo is once again back at the pool tables, pouring tequila shots and distributing beers among the hunters gathered there, her eyes roaming the crowd and narrowing in confusion when she doesn’t find what she´s looking for.

A quick check-up reveals that Sam´s table in the far corner is empty now, no sign of plaid anywhere to be found, and Ellen mentally high-fives herself and turns to the next patron with a smug smile on her face.

Those Winchester boys really do owe her a big one after this.


End file.
